


What's Mine is Yours

by wincechesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though Dean loves how the pants look on Cas and he usually gets to take them off himself later, they’re his pants, and none of his other pants are as comfortable. He definitely doesn’t pout when he sees Cas wearing them but it’s a near thing, especially when the smug little asshole gives him a grin like he doesn’t know why Dean’s in such a sour mood. </p>
<p>And thank god it’s Christmas because this calls for drastic measures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Mine is Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly AUish Christmas Bunkerfic - Kevin is alive, Sam is unpossessed, Cas is still human and apparently Charlie can receive phone calls in Oz, because it's Christmas and I do what I want.
> 
> Thanks as always to [Meg](http://arxettutissimanobis.tumblr.com) for beta reading. You're the best, babe.
> 
> Shameless shmoop and I apologize for nothing. Enjoy! <3

Dean has this one pair of lounge pants. They’re dark blue and green plaid, and they’re a little bit too big, and he’s had them for what seems like forever. They’re worn soft, and so comfortable it feels like being naked, except warmer and less scarring to his brother and Kevin. Whenever he has time for lounging - which, let’s face it, is not very often because saving the world from monsters is a full time job - they’re his go-to.

Except Cas has been _stealing_ them.

The first time he took them, Dean was sitting at the table in his jeans enjoying a burger. He and Sam and Cas had just returned from a hunt out of state, putting down a wendigo in Colorado, and he was just happy to be back home at the bunker, with a nice home-cooked meal and a reasonable amount of snow. But then Cas had come out of Dean’s bedroom wearing his pants along with one of Dean’s AC/DC t-shirts, strolling around like he owned the place, and Dean had had zero complaints that time because Cas looked fucking _hot_ in his clothes. He especially loved the way the pants had clung to Cas’ hips and the swell of his ass, and when Cas had stretched up to get a mug from the cupboard in the kitchen and the shirt had ridden up, exposing the sharp cut of his hipbones over the low-slung, slightly too big pants – well, Dean’s burger had gone ignored for a while.

Since then it had been a silent and ongoing war between the two of them, the war of who will get to the bedroom first and get to wear the pants. It never turns into an argument, is never openly discussed, but every time Dean gets to his room and sees the pants still draped over the foot of the bed, he makes a mark in the imaginary “Dean” column and pulls them on with satisfaction, knowing that today, _he_ is victorious.

The problem is that Cas is a sneaky bastard and the tally in the “Cas” column is much longer than the one in Dean’s. Dean has no idea how he manages it, but somehow Cas makes it to Dean’s bedroom, out of his clothes and into the pants before Dean can even get all the way in the door. And even though Dean loves how the pants look on Cas and he usually gets to take them off himself later, they’re _his pants_ , and none of his other pants are as comfortable. He definitely doesn’t pout when he sees Cas wearing them but it’s a near thing, especially when the smug little asshole gives him a grin like he doesn’t know why Dean’s in such a sour mood.

And thank god it’s Christmas because this calls for drastic measures.

* * *

Christmas morning dawns with a light dusting of snow obscuring the windows of the bunker, and Dean is the first one up. He crawls carefully out of bed, and if he looks fondly down at Cas’ sleeping form, buried under blankets pulled up so high that only his wild disarray of dark hair is visible, so what? It’s his bed and his bedroom, and he doesn’t have to explain himself to anyone. He dresses quickly, putting a mark in the imaginary “Dean” column as he pulls on his favorite pants, and pads out into the library. He tucks the three gifts under the Christmas tree that he and Sam and Cas and Kevin had picked out and decorated two weeks ago, adding them to the small pile already accumulated, before he heads back to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

Slowly his family stumbles out of bed: Sam next, then Kevin, and finally Cas, rubbing sleep from his blue eyes and blinking out from under an adorable mop of mussed dark hair. Since Dean’s wearing the pants today, Cas has pulled on some sweatpants that look almost (but Dean has to admit, not quite) as good. He kisses the side of Dean’s head absently as he shuffles by on his way to the coffee maker, and Dean takes an aggressive, too-big bite of his toast to hide the happy flush that colors his cheeks.

“So, now that you lazy asses are out of bed, can we get started on Christmas?” he asks impatiently around a mouthful of toast.

Sam laughs. “Dean, you’re nearly thirty-five. Aren’t you a little too old to get this excited about Christmas?”

“You shut your mouth,” Dean bites back, scandalized, while Kevin chokes on a mouthful of cereal. “You’re never too old for Christmas.”

This is the first time he and Sam have had a home since Mom died, and Dean had decided early that he was going to give his family a proper Christmas, the kind that he and Sam never had, the kind that Kevin will be missing now that his mom is gone. Cas thinks Christmas is a little silly, given that “Jesus wasn’t even born in December, Dean,” but Dean doesn’t care. Sam has finally started to think of this place as his home, and Cas is human now, and Kevin doesn’t have anyone else, just like the rest of them. They all need a little bit of holiday cheer and dammit, Dean’s going to give it to them. It’ll be presents now and dumb Christmas music all day and an honest-to-god turkey complete with stuffing and cranberry sauce for dinner tonight.

Eventually Dean manages to shoo the other three into the library where the tree is set up, but not until Cas has had a full cup of coffee and poured a second and Sam has finished his giant-sized bowl of oatmeal and yogurt. It’s a little sad looking, the skinny dilapidated tree with the cheap dollar store ornaments and the twelve shabbily wrapped little presents underneath, but Dean thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life than that crappy tree with it’s crappy presents and his crappy little family sitting in a lopsided half-circle around it.

Dean’s so busy watching Sam and Kevin and Cas open their presents that he forgets to open his own, letting them sit idly in his lap as he watches the smiles on the others’ faces. He’d gotten Sam the rest of the Game of Thrones books (“They’re called A Song Of Ice and Fire, Dean, only the show and the first book are called Game of Thrones”) and Kevin a set of Magic Cards, since he said he needed to start over on his deck or something to that effect (Charlie had helped him with that one). And finally Cas is unwrapping his gift, pulling back the paper to reveal a pair of blue and black plaid lounge pants, as close to the pair that Dean is currently wearing as he could find but brand new, and a different color. He’d even bought them slightly too big so they’d still ride low on Cas’ hips, and yeah, maybe they’re a little bit a gift for him too.

“Now you have your own so you don’t have to steal mine all the time!” Dean explains, grinning.

Cas pauses a moment, his fingers dragging over the soft flannel, but then he smiles at him and leans in to kiss him, just a light brush of his lips against Dean’s. “Thank you, Dean. I’ll go put them on right now.” He shoves himself to his feet and pads out of the room.

Then Sam’s plate-sized hand comes out of nowhere to thwack Dean on the back of the head with the force of a small train. “Ow, what the fuck, Sammy?” Dean asks, rubbing the back of his head and scowling at his brother.

Sam gives him a meaningful look, the one that says _god, Dean, you’re such an idiot sometimes_. “Cas didn’t like wearing your pants because they were nice pants, Dean. He liked wearing them because they were _your pants._ ”

Dean blinks at his brother and then looks to Kevin for confirmation, and the little nerd is nodding like it’s the simplest concept in the world, Jesus fucking Christ. (Is it extra offensive to take the Lord’s name in vain on Christmas? Dean makes a mental note to ask Cas later.)

“Aw fuck. And I’m just supposed to _know_ that?” Dean asks gruffly.

“It’s pretty basic stuff, Dean,” Kevin says condescendingly, and the twin looks of sheer undisguised pity staring back at him from both directions are enough to drive him grumbling to his feet and down the hallway to check on Cas.

He knocks on the door to his own bedroom, feeling like a real moron because it’s _his_ bedroom after all. He opens the door without waiting for a reply and Cas turns to blink up at him, surprised. He’s wearing his new pants, and even though they’re a little bit stiff with newness and there’s still a crease in the front from the fold, they already cling to his hips in a way that makes Dean’s mouth water.

“Uh, hey, Cas,” he says rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m - uh - sorry about the pants.”

Cas squints at him, tilting his head in confusion. “Why are you sorry?”

“I dunno,” Dean says, throwing his hands up. “Sam said I fucked up and that you didn’t want your own pants, you wanted to wear my pants because they were _mine_ and if you don’t like them I can buy you a new gift,” he finishes in a rush, feeling the flush in his cheeks.

“I don’t understand.”

Dean’s head shoots up, his eyes meeting Cas’. “I don’t either!”

Cas laughs. “I like the pants Dean. It’s nice to have a pair of my own.”

And god bless gorgeous fallen angels who have even less idea about how whatever the fuck they’re doing is supposed to work than he does. Dean breathes out a sigh of relief, stepping forward and letting his hands fall on Cas’ flannel covered hips. “Thank god.” He ducks his head to capture Cas’ lips with his own, and Cas sighs into his mouth, leaning into his body. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas replies, and he even manages to do it without the little huff that says he thinks the whole day is a bit silly. He turns his head to mouth at the hinge of Dean’s jaw,  “You didn’t open your present yet.”

“What did you get me?” Dean breathes, tilting his head back to give Cas better access.

Cas’ lips are hot his neck, sucking teasing, wet kisses into his flesh. “You’ll have to unwrap it and see,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice low. “Speaking of which, perhaps we should get back to unwrapping gifts with Sam and Kevin.”

Dean slips his hands down the back of Cas’ new lounge pants, grinning when he feels nothing between his hands and Cas’ skin. “I dunno, Cas, I’m kind of catching on to the whole ‘having you in my pants’ thing.”

Cas puts up a half-hearted protest when Dean eases the pants off his hips (“I just put those on, Dean”), but he gives up quickly when Dean’s pants join his in a puddle of plaid flannel on the floor. It’s quick and messy, a hurried slide of their bodies together on top of the sheets, gasps and cries muffled into each others’ shoulders, hands combing through each others’ hair, skimming arms and chests and shoulders. Dean cries out first but Cas is quick to follow, and they come down together, breathing each others’ scent and pressing soft kisses into each others’ skin.

Dean wonders if he’ll ever get tired of this - of having Cas here with him, under his hands, in his bed, of giving stupid gifts to him and Sam and Kevin, and celebrating a holiday that doesn’t really make sense to any of them but is still, for some reason, important.  And since that’s way too sappy of a thought, he turns his head and blows a raspberry into the taut skin of Cas’ chest and heaves him, laughing, out of bed to get cleaned up.

When Cas and Dean return to the library, Sam’s got his nose buried in one of the books and Kevin is thumbing through the deck of cards Dean had given him, but both of them look up at the sound of their shuffling, sock-muffled footsteps on the tiles. Dean winks saucily to cover his blush, but lets Cas tangle their fingers together and pull him forward. Sam and Kevin exchange a look and both roll their eyes, but if they notice that Cas is wearing Dean’s old pants and Dean is wearing Cas’ new ones, they don’t comment.

“Hurry up, Dean,” Sam says, his lips twitching as he shoves an unopened present into Dean’s lap. “You have a turkey to make.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Thanks so much for reading and I wish you all the very best of the holiday season! :* I'm [wincechesters](http://wincechesters.tumblr.com) over on tumblr; come say Hi!


End file.
